


holding on to you (tonight, for dear life)

by lostatsea



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Tour, i'm trying to write more often, it's pretty sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:12:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostatsea/pseuds/lostatsea
Summary: This time, Tyler Joseph was absolutely, positively, without-a-doubt sure of this: he was going to kill himself.





	holding on to you (tonight, for dear life)

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: suicidal thoughts/depression
> 
> title from Comfort of Strangers by Bastille  
> but I liked how it also had a bit of holding on to you

This time, Tyler Joseph was absolutely, positively, without-a-doubt sure of this: he was going to kill himself.

Now, that feeling was no stranger to Tyler. It never quite left him for many years; that dull ache in his stomach and that empty place in his heart were too prominent for him to ignore throughout his life.

His high school years had seen it all. The lyrics and songs he wrote could attest to that pain. Every ounce of thought was poured into crushing words and cordial chords and clashing sounds drifting from his basement. His cave. His sanctuary.

That was the start of his therapy: clearing his mind through the pen and charging rhymes with intricate feelings. But what started out as his only hope to save himself grew to more than he could have ever imagined. A fanbase followed as the days crossed out in his calendar melted into years, and Tyler's improvement evolved through his music.

He changed from solely stripping his feelings bare as a desperate plea, to calling for strength and unity in his songs. People looked up to him to help them, and Tyler got better by extending his arm out to others. That was the best medicine. And that helped.

That, along with the success of his band, felt like he was being suspended in the air. He and Josh got signed to a record label, their album was sitting on the charts, and their tour was selling out rapidly.

At this point, it was like the top of the roller-coaster, for that split-second, when the rest of the world looked like tiny, multicolored pixels below, and the rules of gravity were broken. Simply, it was an uncrushable sense of victory.

However, the inevitable downhill rush came faster and harder than Tyler ever imagined. The days became shorter, the nights became longer, and old, suppressed feelings came rushing up to the surface like they were never lost.

It happened in the midst of tour.

Every night was filled with heavy energy lighting up an arena, and thousands screaming cherished words back at the singer. Such nights were usually thrilling, and the rush of the crowd recharged Tyler's energy and make him feel alive. They had been like that for a while.

However, the repetition of that pattern and the frequency of the shows were starting to drain him, evidently. The experience of a live show became more like a burden. It was something he had to do, rather than something he enjoyed.

It wasn't even a matter of doubting the fans' investments. Tyler knew well enough that he and Josh had tightly gripped the support of millions, and that relationship was mutual.

With that, it wasn't even a matter of doubting his own skill. He knew he wasn't perfect, but he still loved his ability to rawly write his emotions and use them to relate to those in the same position.

He just simply didn't feel the worth in his efforts. 

Every show started to add fatigue, every night carried some weight, and every morning had a lingering shadow of darkness.

For years, he had bought into the idea that staying alive for just a little bit longer and pushing through the hard times was worth it. 

However, what made it worth it? Why not succumb to the temptation of being free?

Tyler always scolded himself quietly when he though that, knowing that the way he was feeling was so small compared to the numerous years of depression he had endured. But he secretly knew that the start of this slump was not going to remain as a sliver. The rest of the iceberg would be revealed from the surface.

And that's exactly what followed.

It was night, huddled in many blankets under the comfort of his bunk, surrounded by the harsh, violent sound of the quiet, and immersed in the conversations infiltrating his mind. He had just performed an exhausting show that day, nothing more strenuous than the usual, but somehow accompanied with that heavier, pulling fatigue that dragged him down.

At this point, the sun had been dipped under the hills for hours. The show had come to a close long ago, and everyone else was settled into their bunks.

Josh had probably been asleep for at least an hour, Jenna following not too far behind. The rest of the crew was sure sleeping to be as well, but time was hard to judge. It was a bit skewed as Tyler stared motionlessly at the dark ceiling.

If he looked closely into the black, he tried to somehow pick out patterns of faint lights and swirling covers in an attempt to distract himself. However, the distraction soon wore off, and Tyler was left to face what manifested in the silence and the dark.

He felt no excitement about the day ahead of him, no thrill about another show.

He felt no joy thinking about events in the future, no enthusiasm toward his life.

The abyss of sleep was tempting but not when he also had to wake up.

He wanted to break the endless cycle of exhaustiveness that charged his days. He wanted to stop pushing his momentum forward and forward into the future with no sense of worth.

And that's where he got the idea.

It scared him at first.

He has definitely contemplated this before, but those intense nights trailed many years back into times that were now ancient. That thought had petrified him then, and it surely petrified him now.

He had what he needed; he had a whole bottle of pills dug somewhere in his suitcase. That would allow him to complete the bridge from thoughts to reality.

But now, fear had adeptly entered his bloodstream and begun shaking his core.

He hadn't felt this bad, this fast, ever. He knew there were steps he could take to try to ease those thoughts in that moment; he had a list of them tacked to a wall in his bedroom at home. He could talk to Josh and Jenna, play an instrument, or write something in his notebook, and the list went on and on.

Nowhere did it feature sitting around and contemplating death, but reality had sunken in like glue, and Tyler didn't have the force to overcome it.

He was drenched in a lack of incentive, weighed down by no will do to anything.

But he had a future in music, he and Josh were soaring through the charts, and he had a family who loved and support him. So why did he have to be like this? What had even caused this downfall?

_You're to blame. You created his mess,_ he scolded himself, clutching the sheets surrounding him tightly. 

And with those thoughts and questions abusing his mind, Tyler Joseph started crying. Full, salty tears streaming down his face like a never-ending river rushing downhill. He tried to hide the quick, raspy breaths he managed to take from any potential listeners, not wanting to stir anyone or cause any trouble.

But he quickly succumbed to that spiral of sadness, and he was unable to catch up with his breath. He nearly choked on the air around him, and he knew this needed to stop.

He to set his mind to positive things, hoping that would be a smart thing to do. He had his fans who supported him and Josh immensely, and he had huge potential for his future as a musician. There was so much going in his favor.

However, those two thoughts ended up breaking him down even more. He couldn't help but feel like an awful person for letting all his fans down and wasting the life that he had in front of him.

Everyone always talked about suicide as a selfish concept, and Tyler truly understood that in that moment. He was being a selfish creature— but only more reason to follow through. 

He boldly made his way out of the bunk, wiping his eyes and holding his breath. His head stung from the flow of tears, creating a unsteadying sensation as he approached the bathroom doors. All the lights were out, and so Tyler stumbled his way through the narrow hallway without any guidance. But eventually, he made his way to his destination, fumbling with the light but making sure the lock was on the closed door.

Tyler stared at himself in the mirror.

His face seemed to flicker between two states. One image reflected his real-self: bloodshot eyes hovered above deep bags of darkness, announcing his severe lack of sleep. His face was slightly swollen, carrying most of its redness in his cheeks, accompanied by rushing tears that hadn't stopped cascading down. He looked defeated. Exhausted. Finished.

However, the other, flickering image revealed a darker side. Instead of bloodshot eyes, his pupils had morphed into a deep, haunting red. Down through his neck carried a smeared, choking charcoal, and the shadows seemed to cut into him sharper. He looked simply frightening.

Tyler took a step back and decided not to further examine the two parts of his heart. He could already hear their wars waging audibly in his mind, and visual accompaniment only made the matter seem more overwhelming.

Instead, he paced the room, trying to make sure his footsteps were light and carrying minimal sound. He stared mostly at his feet, hoping that focusing on such a repetitive motion would be another distraction. He eyed the way he placed in foot on the ground, bent his knee, and carried his motion forward. The beauty and naturalness of this routine felt peculiar to him.

But after a while, walking around in circles became too mundane; his thoughts caught up to his speed and drowned him in paralyzing fear again.

He instantly froze in his path. This hands were shaking, twitching by his sides, his head was pounding, rattling against his skull more than before, his tears were chasing, sprinting against his breath—

—and so Tyler Joseph sat down in the corner. Moving quietly. Thinking loudly.

This could be the end. It was so easily in this grasp. No more worries, not more fatigue, no more troubles. Just the pure, comfort of blackness and nonexistence. 

In his reality where everything was too much, such an offer was too tempting to pass up. He just had to collect his thoughts, sneak into his suitcase, and retrieve what he needed. That simple. That easy. Done.

Tyler stood up hastily, taking a moment to dizzily recollect his balance from the ground. He took once last glance in the mirror, eyeing the thick, black hue that covered his neck with piercing, laser red eyes. 

That was when there was a knock at the door. 

Tyler jumped back, his feet even lifting off the ground. A feeling of guilt and nerves shot up his veins like adrenaline. 

He took a breath. He just had to play it cool. Everything was okay. He could postpone his plans one day. It wasn't the end of the world. 

"Tyler?" He heard a voice call from outside the door, and he instantly identified it. Josh. 

"Um—one second!" He called out, instantly trying to fix his hair and pass as normal. But the black wasn't coming off of his neck, and his eyes looked supernatural. Instead, he settled on just turning off the lights and decided to brave it out. He had to face this.

He turned the knob with sweaty palms, pulling quietly and gently to reveal Josh. 

He stood still for a moment, his eyes tracing Tyler. 

Then, he spoke up. Softly. 

"Hey, why are you crying?" It was gentle, one of the softest things Tyler ever heard, but it still caused his heart to crumble into a million pieces. 

"It's okay. I'm—" Tyler began to say, but tears immediately blurred his vision and sharp breaths took control of his voice. 

Josh stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the crying man. "You don't have to say anything." 

And so Tyler didn't speak. Instead, the tears continued flowing down his face, and he tried to breathe deeply to soothe himself. Josh's embrace also helped calm him down; it was such a relief to have someone to cling to and be with. 

"Let's go sit down on the couch," Josh suggested, and Tyler nodded. 

When they had finally settled down, Tyler started explaining. He felt like Josh deserved to know, and he knew that it would help himself if he confided in him. He told Josh everything, from the humdrum pull of tour to the impulsive thoughts that had just shredded his mind. Josh let him talk, humming occasionally to communicate his listening. 

And when Tyler was done, Josh responded with that same gentle, soothing voice. He couldn't focus his senses on the entire speech he gave, but he was able to pick out a couple of words that did enough to ease his heart.

It wasn't solved, but it was better. And it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. It means a lot. 
> 
> Let me know if you liked it.


End file.
